


Some Kind of Crazy

by Moirae_Maat



Series: Warring Minds [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And I really do mean that, And even more questionable actions, Character philosophies, F/M, Formative moments, Gen, It's an abundance of OCs, M/M, Non-human characters, OC POV, OCs galore, Spoilers, The kidnapper’s POV, The reason for the ridiculously huge storm, Warring Minds Sidebar, What Astet's really up to and why, Why JD has issues, Why Trystan picked Kiran, Why we avoid Atalante, questionable morals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moirae_Maat/pseuds/Moirae_Maat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sidebar to Warring Minds, which means it's a series of related oneshots organized by character and title.</p>
<p>Occasionally spoilers will be posted here, as posting in this oneshot collection is a sidebar to the actual story. The majority of the events covered in the oneshots are vital to a character (but not necessarily the plot) and will not be covered, only referenced, in any part of Warring Minds. You don’t have to read this sidebar to understand Piercing the Veil, but it’ll clarify some of the characters and things that are only obliquely referenced in PtV or that happen in the background of PtV that will later influence the story. I'll try to keep it paced with the story, but no promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Atalante - Persephone's Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Family Mansion, Summer before K’ver, Atalante’s Plan

Atalante frowned and flipped past the instructions for the Draught of Living Death. A prone body would do her no good and any Potions Master worth their title could produce the potion and its antidote. She needed something exotic and permanent for the base creature her ‘uncle’ expected to father the next generation. She had no interest in the hidebound idiot, even if his form could be considered pleasing by even the harshest critics.

The potions mistresses paused in her perusal of the book. He really would make a beautiful doll and he had the brains to match. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, a strong nose; if only he had strings like a puppet she could use to make him dance to her tune. It was a pity she had to marry in order to inherit, but she had no intention of ceding the power of her family name to her so-called ‘uncle’ and that meant she would have to bond with the cretin.

K’ver would give her four years grace, four years free from the direct manipulation of a man who had managed to kill her mother and attempted to kill her for over a decade. Some of his first efforts were rather memorable despite their failure.

A decorative cake at age 5 that killed her kneazle when the creature had licked the poisoned icing.

A delicate hair comb at age 6 that killed the clumsy servant who was doing her hair that day when the stupid girl pricked her finger on the poison-coated tip.

A bejeweled belt for one of her empire-waistline dresses at age 7 that crushed the heart of the uppity serving girl who had decided to borrow it for the weekend.

A beautiful garnet necklace for an Imbolc engagement gift, a gift that put the manservant who had stolen it into a permanent coma. 

A perfect porcelain doll at age 8 that had almost managed to suck out her soul before the transfer process caused the doll to fall from her hands and break on the floor, returning her soul to her body.

He went after her mother when the doll failed and she’d died eight short months later.

The kneazle’s unfortunate death sparked her interest in potions and hadn’t her ‘uncle’ regretted that when she began to collect dolls of her own. He saw her as a porcelain pawn and every doll she created reminded her of the fate that would have been hers, the fate that was still awaiting her if he ever succeeded in his plans.

Atalante smoothed out the black lace gloves whose patterns and potions prevented her from being trapped like again. Her ‘uncle’s’ spies and assassins had no such barriers and were easily trapped in the dolls that lined the walls of her room.

She ensured they would never be free even if the dolls managed to break by using the soulless bodies for potions ingredients. After all, if the body wasn’t whole, then the ritual potion she utilized to capture souls in her dolls could not restore a soul to the body – and really, human hearts were so difficult to find legally that she honestly looked forward to another attempt on her life so her potions experiments could proceed.

Sadly, the dolls were entirely wrong for her current problem, but she needed something that would give her just as much control while allowing her fiancé the appearance of functioning normally. Imperious was too obvious and most rituals left behind rather obvious traces and that would not do. She needed something permanent and unobtrusive; a spell, potion or ritual that would allow her to control the idiot’s every thought, word, and action. 

She had no intention of gracing his bed more than the once required to produce an heir for her line, and, perhaps, if he pleased her, using him for stress relief when her projects began to annoy her. A simple conception potion would ensure an heir, then a surrogate could deal with the pregnancy itself and serve as wet-nurse once the child was born. She hadn’t quite decided if she wanted a male or female heir at this time, but debating the benefits of each would have to wait until later, and her child would be beautiful given the parentage.

Atalante paused, one lace-covered finger tracing over a potion’s name as she thought. Virgo il Thantos, appropriately referred to as Persephone’s Crown in English, was both obscure and permanent. She took a closer look at the small paragraph describing the potion’s effects and smiled. It looked like she’d be getting a new doll after all.


	2. Rakuchimaru - To Favor Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japan, 3 Years Before K’ver, Rakuchimaru’s Choice

When Rakuchimaru is young, he considers mirrors; how they reflect whatever stands in front of them and how people only see what they want to see. That’s what he’ll have to be in order to survive in the flower and willow world; he’ll have to be a mirror that reflects exactly what people want to see, nothing more and nothing less.

He hides the sharp prick of his teeth in the gracious smile of an accomplished hostess, subsumes the predatory movements of a hunter the in the soft grace of the tea ceremony, learns to bargain for the blood he needs with a smile and promises as fleeting as a shadow. The nee-chans show him little pieces of Blood Magic that help client relax or make them confess information they’d usually withhold; gossip is the life blood of the flower and willow world after all. He watches as the complex relationship between the teahouses of the pleasure quarters spreads out in front of him like a tapestry as the oiran weave its delicate threads with soft smiles and carefully-placed decorations.

He learns his lessons well; even the most subtle selections of his nee-chans appear in brilliant color before his eyes. So do the actions of their clients and a seed of disgust is sown in his heart.

The seed grows with him until he hates the men who come to the teahouse, the ones who treat his mother and nee-chans like whores; hates them so much it burns and sometimes is feels like his mirror is melting in that heat and he’ll never be able to get it back, never be able to smile again because all he can feel is hate, hate, hate.

He tries to be like the fire, which bends but never breaks, twisting and turning in an endless dance, but never the same twice. He fuels it with his hatred – and for a while, it works.

One bright autumn day he can’t contain the hate under pretty words anymore and he almost drives away a client the teahouse can’t afford to lose. His mother plucks the cup he smeared with poison from his hands before the tea set entered the room and takes him aside with quiet dignity. 

For three months he does errands and little chores for the nee-chans and the teahouse that keep him away from customers. He sharpens his skills as he waits, experimenting with poisons and Blood Magic to pass the time until they judge he is ready to face customers again.

In winter, he finally rejoins the retinue of a lower oiran and carefully matches his hakama to the shadow of her kimono on the snow. He slips a delicate war fan into his obi and a brace of senbon into the dark mass of his ronin’s tail before taking a deep breath and exiting his room.

The group passes by a frozen pond on the way to the teahouse for a recitation of a poem about a yuki-onna and he doesn’t pause to think about the image reflected back by the ice until the client persists in discussing the manner the yuki-onna used to display her mirror and then it clicks.

He goes back to the pond that night and stares at his reflection.

Ice can be dyed, colored, carved, decorated; it can be anything he needs.

Ice is calm, collected, patient; willing to wait until just the right moment.

Ice is insidious and careful and oh, so powerful; freeze something long enough and it breaks at a butterfly’s touch.

Rakuchimaru smiles and there are glaciers in his eyes.

Ice can be so cold it _burns _.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Atalante’s oneshot, personal headcannon for characters that might not be main characters, but certainly impact the story.


	3. Llukllpar - When Thunder Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K’ver, First Year, the Great Storm  
> Piercing the Veil, Chapter 23

Muchay took a deep breath and wove the curse of her line into her body, into her blood, into her magic, into her soul. Her body would cease to exist the moment it ended – she had never wanted to leave Llukllpar in such a way – but it would be worth it. She was dead anyway and she would suffer no more humiliation at the hands of this bastard. 

      _With my dying breath, with every tendril of my power…_

“…For every ounce…” she breathed out. 

      _… of blood you have taken, for every drop of magic you have stolen…_

“A paltry death curse,” one of the vampires mocked as he circled her nipple with a finger before pinching it harshly. “Your magic hardly matches your attributes.”

The human ignored him; she could only do this once and Lorenz was the instigator. His followers would perish in his wake.

      _…Cursed be your actions, cursed be your blood, cursed be your magic, cursed be your soul…_

      _…Cursed be your fate, cursed be your name, cursed be your followers…_

“…Cursed be your children, cursed be your children’s children unto eternity,” Muchay breathed out before her world went black and she blinked out of existence.

.~.~.~.

Llukllpar felt his marriage bond break and froze in the midst of calling a storm.

His wife was dead and he would destroy those who had taken her from him. The storm gathered above him, dark clouds broiling out from his position on the roof, lightning flashing through the dark blanket as thunder echoed around the school. He clenched his hands and lightning struck the ground, blasting a chunk of stone out of the courtyard before burning it black.

She was gone.

Gone, gone, gone. 

The thought echoed in his head and freezing rain fell from the clouds in place of tears. 

Llukllpar looked out across the lightning-lit clouds and released his sorrow to the storm. 

His anger grew as the thunder rolled across the sky.

He didn’t try to limit it, he didn’t try to control it, he just let his emotions rage, feeding the storm more and more power with every second that passed.

He barely stopped himself from voicing the ritual invocation of a war storm, but couldn’t avoid starting the chant in his mind.

      _I have seen the glory of the thunder of the skies…_

His tribe wasn’t here to lend him their aid and a one-man war would fail.

      _I am bringing forth the darkness so my enemies will die…_

He would have to hunt down his Miel’s murderer, and if it took him six years, then so be it, but they would be dead before he left this school.

      _I have loosed the fateful lightning so the bolts of death can fly…_

She had woven enough of his power into her curse that he would be able to track down the person who had killed her –

    – lightning crackled across the darkened sky –

– and then he would kill them. 

      _This storm will strike them dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that’s vital to the plot of the story, but not quite able to fit into the story itself, considering it centers around Kiran/Harry.
> 
> Words for the ritual invocation of a war storm from L.E. Modesitt Jr.’s _Soprano Sorceress_ and originally adapted from the song _Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory_.
> 
> Also, it took forever to get this to look right. I still only know the basics, but I learned a lot about HTML trying to get this to match my Word document.


	4. Katsumine - Raindrops on Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japan, Six Years before K’ver, Katsumine’s Revenge

Raindrops dusted peach roses as Katsumine bent down over the grave to carefully arrange the flowers she’d brought, her clan bodyguards waiting discretely out of sight for her to finish visiting her deceased parents. Several of them had repressed frowns at her choice of flowers, but stayed silent because they knew their duty. It was not their place to comment on her private actions and they knew it.

The Japanese flower of death was white chrysanthemums and she had used that for the base of her offering, carefully adding peach roses in a variety of shades for sincere gratitude and the closing of a deal. Next came red spider lilies, for never again shall they meet, and velveteen roses so dark they were almost black for the finality of death. The last thing she added was red ume flowers.

In Japan red ume flowers warded against evil and spoke of spring, but the West had once used plum flowers to warn of promises kept and that was the meaning she drew on now.

As she moved to leave, Katsumine paused and turned back to pluck a single black rose from the arrangement.

Before her confirmation as heir, Tou-san had slipped a single miniaturized black rose into the elaborate presentation of flowers and jeweled pins in her hair with a smile and a joke about new regimes coming to power, but his eyes had been serious.

Kaa-san removed it minutes later and twirled the stem carefully between her fingers before tucking the small rose in at the base of her hair and shifting a few flowers to cover it.

Katsumine had looked up at her curiously and her mother had given her a melancholy smile before pulling a kaiken from her obi.

Kaa-san had turned the delicate blade over in her hands once before reaching over to tuck it into the obi of Katsumine’s furisode. “Because you should never forget the price you’ll one day pay for power and the blood that will pave your path.”

Her mother swept an arm out to encompass the room and everything beyond it. “This was all bought by blood, Katsumine, drop by drop, and we must never forget – ”

Her mother pricked her thumb on a sharp upper incisor and pressed it to the center of Katsumine’s red-painted lips.

“ – blood calls to blood.”

And now her parents have paid the blood price for her unasked-for advancement to heir.

All because a faction of the organization wanted to modify the succession.

Those bastards wanted to change things?

Katsumine brushed the black rose across red lips curved in savage smile.

She would show them something they had never seen before.


End file.
